


L'Appel Du Vide

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Brief mention of self-harm, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 22:23:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11217453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: In this timeline, Amélie doesn't marry Gerard, but with Angela she learns that peace comes at a price.





	L'Appel Du Vide

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [L'Euthanasie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917440) by [CourierNinetyTwo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo). 



> Commissioned by mememmetra!
> 
> It is not required to read L'Euthanasie to understand or enjoy this fic since it is a what-if/re-imagining of the same circumstances. However, the first section of that story does give more context about how their relationship initially came together before events diverge in this fic.

Angela had rewritten the letter three times. 

Surely some of that was to blame on her surrounding conditions, as a tent propped up in the middle of the snow-drowned Balkans barely passed the international standards for shelter. She had managed to zip the front of it shut and pinned the flaps so they would stop snapping behind her head with every gust of wind, but there was only so much that could be done to allay the brutal cold before it settled into her bones. It was privilege enough to have solitude when so many of the other aid workers here were packed into bunks and sleeping bags, sharing each other's heat when there was no other source to be found.

Yet that wasn't truly a suitable excuse. Angela remembered writing a letter to Amélie in the hours after a sectarian crisis blossomed into a massacre, when a small Omnic community had been set ablaze by outraged citizens, only for the fires to spread into human quarters as well. An acre of old houses had gone up like tinderboxes, trapping hundreds inside, and local responders were instantly overwhelmed. She had flown in to perform an almost endless series of emergency surgeries, running a burn unit that could have earned its own circle of hell. Somewhere before sunrise in ten minutes of stolen peace, Angela penned a note to her distant lover, merely asking how her day had gone.

Why was it so difficult now?

"Amélie, it seems that I have emotions, and all of them are very inconvenient at the moment." Angela said aloud, mocking herself before swiping a finger over the tablet again, erasing the first few lines there. " _Mein Gott_ , I'm not a teenager."

As an actual teenager she had been neck-deep in medical school, concerned with clinicals and fellowships instead of romance, but even then there had been girlfriends now and again, usually other students or new graduates eager to shake off half a decade of stress. Angela hadn't minded the temporary, transitional nature of such arrangements; essentially every relationship she'd ever had, be it with friends or family, played out in such a manner. Being tied to any particular location meant cutting one's self away from the infinite possibilities waiting around the rest of the world.

Yet the strangest feeling had been brewing in her chest for days -- no, if she was honest, weeks -- now. She wanted to go _home_ , except there was no such harbor; her apartment in Switzerland was merely an abode, one paid to be kept clean in her perpetual absence, as Angela could count the number of nights she slept there each year on one hand.

The only continuous chains that bound her to this earth were her work and Amélie; Amélie, who she hadn't seen beyond the occasional video call in just over two years. Perhaps it was an insult to even call the other woman her lover when their tryst was a singular event, but Angela needed some sort of title to cling to, and that one seemed suitable enough.

Seeking inspiration, Angela tapped back through her mail application, searching for the last message Amélie had sent. It had arrived several days ago, now buried behind newsletters and requests to headline conferences, but the title was unmistakable: _Bonne matinée._  Such was Amélie's running joke; she liked to pretend it was morning in whatever timezone Angela happened to be working in, no matter the actual hour. Running her fingertips briefly across the other woman's name, she sighed and called up the text to read it again.

_Angela,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Part of me is always concerned when I don't find an article about you in the paper, although I suppose that means the world is a little calmer than usual. Right now I'm watching two gentlemen argue over who gets to pay the bill for their anniversary dinner, and I think the one with a hat is going to shove his credit card into the waiter's pocket in order to get his way. It's sweet enough that I almost want to throw my card into the ring as well._

_Regardless, I confess my life remains droll in comparison. The company is on two weeks of standby while our director tours other performances so we may politely thrash the competition during the spring season. If you are not in the middle of open-heart surgery during this lull, perhaps we could share a few moments over a vid line?_

_Avec toute mon affection,_

_Amélie_

It was the middle of the night now -- and the same time in Paris -- so Angela didn't want to wake her merely to check in. While Amélie was used to seeing her in various disheveled and exhausted states, that didn't mean such suffering had to be shared. Instead, she drew up the appointment app and glanced at the coming week. She was scheduled to fly out of Belgrade in two days, then there was a consortium in Athens she'd promised to attend the first day of, but the rest of the week was mercifully empty -- as long as no one decided to violate an armistice in the next seventy-two hours.

Everything about this was impulsive, the antithesis of how Angela kept her life in order, but the yearning to be elsewhere wrapped around her heart and squeezed so tight it was a miracle she didn't cry. Her reply was typed out in haste.

_I'm coming back to Paris._

\--

Amélie insisted on picking her up from the airport, countering Angela's logic that it would be more convenient to hire a car, and for the first few minutes they were alone together, she didn't have the first clue what to say. Relief left her senseless, so glad to be in this mundane little vehicle while classical music from one of Amélie's old shows poured in a gentle wave out of the speakers, but it retained a surreal edge. Video calls or not, she had not seen the other woman in the flesh for years, and there was the lingering notion that things must be different, something irrevocably altered in her absence.

"I thought we might get something to eat first, _non?_ " Amélie commented, managing to wedge her car down a narrow lane and towards more traditional cobblestone streets. "No offense to your countrymen, but I have heard Swiss air service can be lacking when it comes to such amenities."

"I wouldn't know, considering I slept through the entire flight." Angela confessed, smiling a little. "So food would be wonderful."

There were endless _pâtisseries_ in the city, but Amélie insisted the one she lead Angela into was her favorite. Between the two of them, they ordered a whole tray of sweets and breads, snagging a table outside so Amélie could duck next door for coffee without causing too much of a fuss. The influx of caffeine and calories snapped Angela back to alertness, but it was the simple pleasure of seeing Amélie's animated face while she spoke that finally bled the venomous knot of stress from between her shoulder blades.

Amélie folded her hands in her lap, leaning back in her seat with a teasing grin. "I am talking far too much about myself when there is a world-renowned doctor sitting across from me." 

"Please don't mention that." Angela's eyes swept around the other chairs; most of them were empty, but she could never count on her luck. "Half the time when my title is mentioned, I end up taking care of someone."

"What do you mean?" Amélie asked, raising a brow.

"So you're the famous Dr. Ziegler!" She thickened her accent for effect, gesturing with her coffee. "I've always prayed we would meet so I could show you this unfortunate lump that has plagued me since childhood--"

A laugh spilled from Amélie's lips, so open and warm that Angela immediately quieted, not wanting to interrupt the sound. "Let me guess. It is never on their arm."

"No." Angela huffed. "Too many people think it appropriate to unzip their trousers around me without invitation."

Feigning offense, Amélie pressed a hand over her heart. "I was polite enough in my asking, I hope." 

For a second, Angela wanted to laugh too, but the subtle acknowledgement of their first time caught her off-guard. She carefully set her cup aside, not wanting to disturb its contents while gathering her thoughts. All the humor drained from Amélie's face at the motion, replaced with a flicker of worry.

"Did you still want--" Angela began. 

At the same moment, Amélie spoke. "I did not mean to presume--"

The crosstalk disintegrated into mutual silence before Angela summoned the courage to nod. She had not attempted to do this sort of thing before, but what was she known for if not discovery and invention, pushing the bounds of what people thought possible?

"I came back to France because I wanted to spend more time with you." Even that admission lifted a massive weight off her shoulders, which straightened a little. "But what I fear is that time is something I always have short supply of. You have a life here in Paris, and I rarely can justify a reason to return."

"Angela." Oh, to hear her name again, uttered so sweetly by lips she hadn't kissed in months. Amélie's hand stretched across the table, cupping gently over her own. "I will take rare over no chance at all." 

"Are you sure?" It was reflex to ask; so many people in the past had presumed they could handle the stress of such a dynamic, only to wear thin when it became too real to ignore.

"I have been...stuck in my life for quite some time. Dancing is what I love and what I do best, but the fact is most ballerinas retire at thirty-five." Amélie's smile was rueful, small. "I have a handful of years left, and none of them will be at my peak. Given the choice between being second string and following your path, mm, the decision is not so difficult." 

Angela was quietly stunned, but cleared her throat to clarify before the moment pass. "I can provide you with anything you need, Amélie. Unless I'm in a warzone, you're welcome to travel with me." 

"Ah, so I am to be a kept woman." Amélie muttered, but when Angela's eyes shot wide, she chuckled and squeezed her fingers. "I am kidding, Angela! I must tease you about your generosity for the sake of my ego."

Recovering with a soft laugh of her own, Angela turned her fingers over so their hands could link together. "You did already pay for the coffee."

"Alas, now I am nearly out of house and home." Amélie's smile turned a touch wicked. "You know, my lovely doctor, you are quite lucky. A man from the government asked me out after my last show, and I hadn't decided whether or not to tell him yes yet." 

Angela was about to tease Amélie in her taste in partners when someone tapped on her shoulder. She turned around in confusion, only to see the slightly sheepish face of their server from earlier. 

"Are you Dr. Ziegler?" He asked. 

Amélie flushed a brilliant color, but Angela only sighed. Being recognized was simply inevitable. 

\-- 

Things worked out far better than Angela had expected, even after she accepted a commission with Overwatch. Their policies allowed her and Amélie to share quarters despite not being married -- yet, although Angela had let the idea wander through her mind once or twice -- which was a blessing, considering her need to travel had somehow managed to get even more frequent. She hated leaving Amélie alone at the Watchpoints so often, but from what she heard, the younger woman got along swimmingly with most of the soldiers there.

Captain Amari in particular had taken a liking to Amélie, and Angela enjoyed hearing about their salons, most of which seemed to involve carrying on a long-standing argument about whether coffee or tea was preferable at midday. Morrison and Lacroix seemed to take pleasure in her company as well, although Angela expected the latter was because the beleaguered commander had few people to speak his native tongue with, especially on Gibraltar.  

Reyes was the only high-ranking officer who never warmed to Amélie, although Angela could never quite suss out why. She considered Gabriel to be a friend despite having to keep a professional distance from his special operations duties, but supposed that even the kindest of people did not always inherently get along.

"Jack told me the other day he's going to start training me as a secretary if I don't stop lounging around in the conference room." Amélie said with a laugh as they went down the hall together, walking away from the canteen after a late lunch. "But perhaps I'd be better as a social media girl, _non?_ I take so many pictures around here that I never post."

She couldn't, considering sharp restrictions on operational privacy. "I hope you're not too bored. Since this business with Talon has started up, the hope is that centering our command center on the island here will keep everyone safe."

"Bored?" Amélie wrapped her lips around the word, drawing out each syllable. "Have you seen the beaches, Angela? I could spend the rest of my life soaking up the sun in such a place." 

"Not all of it I hope." They stopped at the door outside her quarters, and Angela turned the inside of her wrist against the lock, opening it with the implant embedded there. "I'm stealing you away to Spain next week for our anniversary." 

"As if I have forgotten." Amélie tutted. 

Although the two of them shared a bed and had a stable place to call their own, guilt was never far from Angela's thoughts. As her research accelerated, encouraged to flourish in a half dozen Overwatch labs, her schedule was becoming more hectic. Time had to be split between missions and developing her newly designed Valkyrie suit from blueprint to reality, squeezing out evenings and weekend nights that had once been promised to Amélie.

While there was never any complaint, Angela couldn't shake the notion that she was missing something.

\--

"Mercy, hmm?" Amélie tapped a contemplative finger against her own lips, hazel eyes sweeping over Angela from head to toe. She tried not to pose or slump, wanting her lover to have a proper view of the completed uniform. "That suits you. Although the outfit is very...blue."

"Such are the regulation colors." Angela glanced down at herself before straightening her cap, trying to keep it from falling askew. "Perhaps after a few test runs, I can ask about doing some aesthetic adjustments."

That earned a hum of agreement before Amélie's lips curved into a smirk. "But _chérie_ , the real question is -- how do I get you out of it?"

The answer was far too many clasps and zippers, but Amélie's dextrous fingers made quick work of all of them, and Angela's back met the bed only a moment after she leaned her staff against the wall. A heated kiss broke her focus on the mission to come, but so did Amélie's weight pressing down between her legs, although the other woman was still mostly dressed. She protested that with a tug on her black blouse, which Amélie surrendered custody of once it was pulled over her head.

"I thought I would be the eager one tonight," Amélie murmured as her bra was opened from the front, Angela's fingers pushing the straps down and out of the way, "But you seem to be full of fire, _mon amour._ " 

"It's been three weeks." Angela countered, catching onto the loops of Amélie's pants so she could bring them to the other woman's knees. "Can you blame me?"

Her lover's smile was salvation and temptation all at once. " _Non._ I will savor it." 

Amélie reached back to take her hair down, the tie's removal sending a wave of black tumbling down both shoulders. Angela always took a distinct pleasure in the sight of it, but with her next shaky breath, she noticed something was different. While faint, the scent of gunpowder pervaded Amélie's hair, becoming stronger when it brushed against her cheek. She frowned before she could stop herself, and the younger woman paused, desire put on hold.

"What's wrong, Angela?" Amélie asked.

"Have you been out shooting?" Her brow furrowed in confusion. "I can smell it." 

Surprise flickered across Amélie's face before she wrangled her expression back under control, summoning a small smile. "Ana has been taking me to practice sometimes. She thinks I should know how to defend myself."

Angela let out a deep exhale to try and allay her irritation, but the angry twitch in the pit of her stomach dictated otherwise. "Yes, she's said such the same to me. Yet I would have never picked up a pistol if Jack hadn't forced the issue."

"Are you mad at me for doing it?" Amélie sat up a little, unconscious of her nakedness even though the mood in the room had suddenly cooled.

"No, no." Reaching to the bridge of her nose, Angela rubbed the tension away from it, working up towards her brow. "I am angry at Ana for recruiting you to do such a thing without bothering to speak to me first."

At that, Amélie's expression went blank, and she turned to look out the window. Angela couldn't even begin to read what such a reaction meant, except that perhaps the captain had gone out of her way to warn Amélie that there might be such a consequence. She wasn't sure if that made her more or less upset, but having a cloud over her first evening home in almost a month was unpleasant regardless. 

"It is something I can invest myself in." Amélie finally said, after the silence between them had become too strained to bear. "Will you really try and stop me? We cannot... _merde_ , we cannot all be heroes, Angela."

The second she saw those words leave Amélie's lips, regret took over bright eyes, and the younger woman put a hand over her own mouth, suddenly looking near tears. Alarmed, Angela sat up and wrapped her arms around Amélie, burying her face against one shoulder. While the scent of gunpowder remained so very close to her lover's skin, she couldn't care about that, not now. 

"I'm sorry." Angela whispered, placing a soft kiss against Amélie's nape. "I know what I do is a burden, how it must be to watch and wait."

"I can be more." Amélie whispered, passion igniting in the soft words. "Do you not think so?"

"I know you can, of course you can." Saying as such felt like shallow comfort, but Angela wasn't sure what exact action she could take. "I love you so much, Amélie. Anything you want to do, I'll get you teachers, supplies, anything you need." 

No verbal reply came, only Amélie reaching back to stroke her fingers through blonde hair, soothing away the stress that always built up like a halo around Angela's head after weeks apart. She leaned into it, into the warmth of their bodies together, and regretted opening her mouth to begin with. 

\-- 

Angela's suspicions didn't arise until Jesse took a bullet to the hip. 

The existence of Blackwatch been a troublesome but inescapable fact for the last few years, but Angela had taken a hands-off approach to the secret branch, at least after yelling at Jack and Gabriel for three solid hours the first time she had been accidentally CC'ed on one of their reports. It had been the last time as well, but it was also impossible to avoid treating injured agents without violating her own oath. 

"I thought you were on reconnaissance." Angela said, angling a syringe before depressing it with her thumb, applying some local anesthetic. While her nanomachines would force the shrapnel back out as a contaminant, the process could still be quite painful. "So how have you ended up in my medical bay yet again?"

Jesse's smile revealed every inch of the good-ol'-boy he was, although Angela knew he didn't expect her to give in so easily. "It was recon, doc. The problem is, we're so good at our jobs, we found the whole viper's nest."

She prepared another injection, spot-checking the nanites before bracing one hand on Jesse's hip to properly deliver the needle. "And the vipers were armed, I presume."

"That's an understatement. If it wasn't for...uh--" He stopped short, clearing his throat. "Well, let's just say I got lucky. That Talon sniper sure wasn't aimin' for my underbelly."

"Is that your job now? Terrorist hunting?" Angela's questions dripped with disapproval as she removed the second syringe, tossing it into a biohazard container. "Or was this just an assassination gone awry?" 

Jesse winced a little, watching the brief but strange bubbling of blood and skin as it reconstituted itself. "They hacked us, doc. A real smash job. Ran off with a lot of Blackwatch records."

That made her pause, hands still and dripping in the nearby sink. "Enough records to prove you exist to the public?"

"Maybe. But it doesn't matter now." He shrugged. "I may have gotten bit, but we still took the whole place down. It's all been EMPed and scrapped."

Logically, she should have been comforted by that, but Angela shook her head while drying off her hands. "I should speak to Gabriel again. This is not what we should stand for as an organization, and that proves how easily our reputation could be tarnished."

"Come on, Angela." She raised a brow; Jesse rarely called her by name, although they had met almost twenty years ago. "Blackwatch exists for a reason."

"That reason has cost you an arm and half an eye." Angela declared simply. "Eventually, there won't be enough left of you to fix, Jesse."

He crossed his arms, blocking her out as physically as he clearly was mentally. "Christ, if only you..."

"If only I what?" Pressing the issue probably wasn't in either of their best interests, but she wasn't going to back down if he didn't relent as well.

"Nothin'." Jesse sighed. "Nothin' at all."

Later that night, Amélie's hair smelled like gunpowder again, and her fingertips like iron.

\-- 

It was their first real vacation in years. 

Amélie had insisted on booking everything under her name, not wanting Angela to be harassed if some concierge decided to leak their itinerary. A bed-and-breakfast along the French Riviera barely put a dent in her account, but Angela was far more interested in peace than extravagance, and warned Jack five times over if he called her for anything less than the apocalypse, she'd quit Overwatch on the spot. He didn't just agree -- he'd practically escorted her out of the Watchpoint and onto the plane. 

For the first day or two, they didn't even leave the room except to buy a new bottle of wine, ordering room service in between long and luxurious sessions in bed. Angela was reminded of their very first time together in Amélie's flat, how warm and welcoming the plain floors and narrow walls had seemed, simply because they were so _lived in_ , breathing with an energy of their own that never existed in her own apartment. It was part of why she had stayed three days rather than just the one night. 

"Shall I get the wine this time?" Angela asked. Between the two of them she wore the only robe, with Amélie stretched out naked across the sheets.

"Please do." After turning to fluff up the pillows, Amélie looked back over her shoulder with a smouldering gaze. "I will give you a reward if you bring me a _Domaine Romanée Conti._ " 

Rather than teasing the younger woman about her penchant for dark wines, Angela complied with a kiss and left their room, heading down a small flight of stairs and into the heart of the bed-and-breakfast. There wasn't anyone in attendance in the living room, so she went directly to the bar, but that was also oddly empty. After a few minutes of searching, Angela couldn't find anyone at all, and wondered if the staff had gone out to lunch in unison. 

Then she heard glass shatter from upstairs.

Angela ran back up to the room, fumbling with the door before shoving it open with her shoulder. A trio of gun barrels immediately leveled in her direction, a fourth pointed right towards Amélie's head. She was hunched in the sheets, anger blazing in her eyes, and when adrenaline flushed the shock from Angela's system, she realized all four assailants had Talon symbols painted on the front of their masks. 

"She was supposed to be alone." The one threatening Amélie muttered, tilting their head towards the tallest in the group. "What do we do with the newcomer?"

"Obviously we take her out--" Another interrupted, only to be countered by the second soldier raising a hand; a captain then, someone in command. 

"Look again. That's Angela Ziegler." Even with the captain's eyes blacked out by dark lenses, Angela could sense the amusement when a look went between her and Amélie on the bed. "The doc's insurance. Let's move out."

In the split second Angela took to search for a weapon, Amélie snapped her leg out, sending the pistol aimed at her scattering to the floor and under a nearby dresser. The Talon agent cursed, but let out a yelp of surprise when Amélie lunged off the bed into a full tackle, ramming her head forward without any regard with the helmet between her and the opposing skull. Something cracked, but Angela wasn't able to tell what, because the other agents swarmed Amélie in an instant, hauling her up by both arms and wrenching them sharply behind her back.

"Run!" Amélie gasped, brow split and bleeding; the attacker at her feet was stone still, likely unconscious. "Angela, _je te pleure_ , you must--"

She didn't understand. Not a single bit of this made sense, and it was that hesitation that cost Angela when someone else came from behind, yanking a black hood down over her head and pulling it tight. 

\--

Her throat ached.

That was the first conscious thought that returned before Angela tried to open her eyes, wincing between slivers of light until they adjusted. A nondescript concrete wall was directly in front of her, and the only difference between the floor and ceiling was the damage to the former, cracks and pockmarks littered everywhere like someone had tried to punch through it.

The rasp of vinyl met Angela's ears when she stretched out her fingertips, and she realized moments later that it was the covering of a razor-thin cushion beneath her, the surrounding bedframe made of steel and bolted firmly in place. When she managed to sit up and look down, her robe was still on, but there was dirt and dust marring the hem of it now, like it had been dragged through something, as well as a rusty splatter Angela suspected was blood.

"Where..." Her tongue was so dry the word cracked between her lips, and she coughed a few times before swinging both legs over the side of the bed to try and stand.

Angela shivered when her bare feet met the cold floor, but the sensation also forced her awake, and she took in the simple measurements of the cell around her before glancing through the steel bars and discovering she wasn't alone. Her jaw dropped as she rushed forward, only to stagger back when her hands tried to reach through the gaps in the bars. Some sort of electric barrier was there, shocking her soundly, and Angela took deep breaths to try and will the pain away. 

"Amélie." She could only hope her voice would carry, even if nothing else could bridge the distance. "Wake up." 

For a moment no response came, and Angela feared the worst until Amélie started to uncurl from her tense position on the floor of the opposite cell. Talon must have had some fraction of respect for the younger woman's dignity, because she was now wearing what looked like a black smock. Amélie staggered to her feet, forced to use the bedframe for balance, but looked at Angela with dull hazel eyes, lip split and brow now purple with bruising.

" _Bonne matinée_." A weak smile twitched along the edge of Amélie's mouth. "I had hoped they would have killed me." 

"Why?" Angela gasped.

"To spare you." Clearly too drained to keep standing, Amélie surrendered to sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched forward so that Angela could still see her face. "This is my fault, _chérie_." 

"What are you talking about?" Her head was already spinning from dehydration; the dizziness brought on from Amélie's strange assertion did little to help. "If anything, this is _my_ fault, Amélie. Talon has been targeting Overwatch for years, but I never thought they would kidnap someone who wasn't even involved." 

"You don't understand!" Amélie snapped.

The outburst silenced Angela completely, unsure of what to make of the protest, but she wasn't allowed to question further. A door at the far end of their cells swung open, admitting a pair of Talon agents lead by a man in a black labcoat, the organization's insignia sewn on over his breast. He snapped an order and one agent pulled out a small tablet, punching in a code that dismissed the barrier of energy across the front of Amélie's cell. When the key was brought out to open the door itself, the other agent leveled an assault rifle directly at Angela's chest.

"Put up a fight like you did the first time and she gets a double-tap to the heart, Amélie." The man in the labcoat declared.

"What are you doing?" Angela demanded, pushing as close to the bars as she could. "Leave her alone! This is a violation of the United Nations declaration on prisoners of war--"

"She is a combatant and will be treated like one." He sneered.

Amélie said nothing as she was forced back to her feet and bullied through the door, which closed behind the agents with a deafening slam.

\--

She didn't see Amélie for a week. 

The only way Angela had to track time was the delivery of meals -- one in the morning and one in the evening. It was basic fare, but she ate it like a woman starved, refusing to lose the sharpness of her mind to hunger or thirst. A few minutes after breakfast number eight was brusquely handed to her, Amélie was dragged back into her cell, and Angela almost dropped the tray in the scramble to stand and check on her condition. 

Amélie was drenched in sweat, a miasma of bruises around both wrists and ankles, and she collapsed as soon as the agents let go of her. Neither one seemed bothered by her fall, sealing the cell shut and leaving through the same door. Angela nearly wept in relief as the other woman slowly tilted her head up to look at her, but something was wrong. Golden irises stood out from where simple hazel was once present, nearly glowing.

"What have they been doing to you?" Her first instinct was always to diagnose, even if it might have been better to provide some scraps of comfort.

"Tests. Torture." Amélie swallowed roughly, reaching down to the plastic cup under her bed and draining the last few drops of old water out of it. "Although I confess, they are making it quite difficult to tell the difference." 

 _Torture?_ What possible reason could they have to-- "If they want information, I'll give it to them."

"You don't have it." Amélie insisted. "What you want, only Blackwatch has."

"But you're--"

A sharpness in golden eyes stopped her short. "I joined three years ago."

She hadn't heard that right. Not in any world would that make sense. Amélie was a _dancer_ , for God's sake, not an assassin. "That's not possible."

"My designation is one-zero-eight." The rhythm and cadence was too even and measured, the sort that only happened when someone had repeated the same phrase dozens of times throughout their life. "I specialize in long-distance engagements."

"...A sniper." Ana's file had the same markers. "Why would you ever--"

Angela remembered when Amélie had taken up shooting, but they lived together and slept in the same bed. The only way their paths would never cross would be if someone over her head had access to both Overwatch and Blackwatch schedules, enough control to directly decide who went on which deployment. 

"Because I know what you believe!" Frustration wrenched its way out of Amélie's throat, battered against the shock dulling her thoughts. "Because I wanted that better world to be possible."

Angela wasn't sure if she wanted to shout or cry. "By _killing_ people?" 

"You don't even know how Blackwatch works, Angela! We've always been with you." Amélie dragged a hand down her face, as if she could simply wipe away the tension and pain boiling over there. " _Merde,_ when Ana recruited me, she showed me so many pictures of you on missions, completely unaware that a Talon or insurgent barrel was pointed right at your head. You never had to know, because one of us took them out before they could so much as touch the trigger."

Her instinct was still to recoil, but the constant engine of Angela's mind fused the mosaic of the truth together from a hundred old pieces. She remembered their argument about heroes, but even more damning than that was the reminder of Jesse in her medical bay, going out of his way not to name his rescuer. The only person who could have saved him from such a situation was a counter-sniper, and Angela knew for a fact Ana herself hadn't been anywhere near that mission. It was why Amélie had disarmed that Talon agent in the blink of an eye.

God, it even explained why Gabriel barely even spoke to Amélie. He wouldn't be so foolish as to accidentally provoke suspicion.

Except she had never wanted this, would have _never_ asked it of the woman she loved. "Amélie, I've always known the possible consequences of my work. I did not sanction anyone committing murder in my name, especially not Blackwatch."

"Murder." Amélie's laugh was a small, choked thing. "If you died, _mon amour_ , it would be killing thousands more. I will not weep for anyone who thinks hurting a woman like you is any way to improve the world. That's why I..."

Amélie's breath quickened, so sharp and sudden it dared near hyperventilation. She clutched hard at her own chest and Angela reached for her, spitting a blue streak when a shock ran straight up her fingertips. The thought that she might watch Amélie die nearly severed her senses from her body.

"Amélie, try to calm down." Keeping her own voice calm was horribly difficult, but one of them had to keep control, and Angela tried to remind herself she had seen so much worse. "Tell me what's happening."

"They--" Amélie pressed back on slender arms and legs, skittering to the far wall of the cell like a startled spider. "Stay away from me, Angela. You must." 

She was about to ask why when Amélie started clawing at her own forearm, scratching at one of the healing IV lines there. Abraded skin split open under the assault, drawing blood, and panic bubbled up in Angela's chest, every analytical train of thought drowned out by a scream inside her skull that resounded over and over.

"Stop!" Angela begged. "Amélie, please stop!"

"No." For as much as she had to be hurting, Amélie's tone was remarkably level, possessing a soldier's raw determination. "I know what their test is now, what this urge is. They want me to kill _you_ , and I will not do it! I will bleed myself dry first."

"Don't." It was a last resort, but Angela put the steel of an order into her words, the same sort she'd used to keep lifelong operatives from walking out of her care at risk to themselves. "Do not. Overwatch is coming for us. I know it."

"They will not find us in this place." Amélie said, her nails stained red but still.

"Perhaps not if they had only taken you." Angela admitted softly. "But unless Talon cut into my spine and left me unaware, I have a tracking beacon. It should have been transmitting data to my personal console this whole time." 

She reached back to the nape of her neck just to be sure, but there was not even a scratch, no smooth new skin. It was one of several implants hybridized with her nervous system, although most of them were to simplify the Valkyrie suit's functions.

Amélie stared at her for a long moment, those golden eyes going empty and cold as a punctured coin. Then she nodded, letting her arm fall slack, and started to murmur something under her breath in French. 

A few words in, Angela realized it was a prayer. 

\--

Some hours later, the Talon doctor came in to patch up Amélie's arm, although she was held down for the duration of it.  

Cruel as the treatment was, Angela took some sliver of solace in the fact that the wounds would likely escape infection, and kept herself sane by devising a proper treatment plan when Amélie was forced back out of her cell by the agents. The evening meal came, but she could only stand to eat a few bites before shoving the tray back towards the bars. 

Fatigue lured Angela into a nightmare-filled nap before the door slammed open again, but she was only half-conscious when the energy field dropped away from the cell: her own, not Amélie's.

"You know what to do, don't you?" The doctor uttered, sounding like he was trying not to laugh. "Although I suppose the exact method is your choice."

Amélie was unceremoniously thrown inside at Angela's feet, although she recovered into a defensive position in the blink of an eye, faster than Angela had ever seen her move. It wasn't quick enough to escape the cell, however, and Amélie nearly burned her palms against the shielding between the bars before letting out a guttural sound. It was filled with rage, practically a howl, and Angela wasn't quite sure why until the younger woman turned around, jaw clenching and both hands tightening into fists.

She could see Amélie's pulse jumping in her throat, pupils blown to the very edges of bright irises. It was beyond the effects of normal adrenaline, as if something had overloaded her autonomic nervous system, and Angela's mind seized on one simple concept: fight or flight.

If Amélie could not do one, they would force her to do the other.

That particular revelation came seconds too late, as Angela only managed to take a step back before Amélie threw her onto the bed with an alarmingly casual show of strength. She was pinned down in an instant, Amélie's weight dropping hard onto her hips before both hands wrapped tight around her throat. Her fingers were ice-cold, lips curled back and teeth bared like a starved wolf.

"Amélie--" Angela choked out. The doctor was just standing there _watching_ , waiting for whatever cruelty he had wrought to play out to its very end. "Stop! You can stop this."

Her grip tightened, cutting off the last of Angela's air, and she had no choice but to start tearing into Amélie's hands, trying to pry those frigid fingers off her throat. Angela wheezed and thrashed, feeling something wet hit her cheek, and despite the dark circles eating through the edges of her vision, it was clear Amélie was crying. There was no sniffling, no change in expression, but tears rolled down her cheeks in a deluge, her hold rigid and unyielding.

"I was so good at it, _mon ange_." Amélie whispered, voice distant as if it were not her own. "My patience, my reflexes, so many years of discipline. I thought I was doing the right thing, I swear..."

Then something exploded. 

The impact knocked them both off the bed and to the floor. Angela rolled away and curled up into herself, coughing and hacking. It was agonizing, the raw inside of her throat trying to draw in air but finding dust, concrete vaporized into particles. She heard someone shouting, but wasn't sure who until she heard a bone-shattering crunch and the cry of triumph that followed. Looking up slowly, Angela's blurred vision came together to find armored boots, the Talon doctor collapsed at the feet of them with blood dripping from his mouth.

"Angela!" Reinhardt knelt by her side, his massive hands trying to help her up off the floor. "Are you alright? We have been hunting for days."

"Amélie." She rasped. "You have to help her first." 

Confusion wrinkled his brow, but Angela saw an entire strike team fall in through the ruins of the main door, Ana's rifle piercing through the cloud of debris before the captain herself became visible, shouting orders to sweep the room. Amélie groaned, starting to push back up to hands and knees, but one look at her eyes and it was clear her induced frenzy hadn't found its end, merely an interruption. 

"They drugged her, Reinhardt." Angela said quickly. "And she will kill anyone she can get her hands on until I can fix it."

His eyes went wide, but regardless of his kind, massive heart, Angela had faith he was a practical man; one did not survive decades of war without such a trait. "Ana, we need non-lethal right now."

"Whatever for?" The captain asked, even if reflex already had her swapping out magazines. 

He pointed to Amélie as she staggered to her feet, a ragged chunk of concrete gripped in one hand and ready to bludgeon. "Her!" 

For once, Angela was grateful for Ana's utter conviction in pulling the trigger. A dart landed high in Amélie's throat and she hissed, reaching up to tear it out before questing fingers went slack, her knees falling out from under her as golden eyes rolled back into her skull. Gabriel holstered his shotgun and lunged to catch her, stopping Amélie's head from hitting the broken, blackened edges of the floor. 

"Hey, soldier. You're okay." To hear Gabriel refer to her lover in such a way made Angela's heart sink, but they were both alive. The time for anger could come later. "I told you no one gets left behind." 

But at what cost? 

\--

They left Overwatch and Blackwatch, respectively. 

The latter was expected after the kidnapping and Talon's torturous interference, but the former threw high command into a frenzy, and Angela found herself yanked into a meeting with Jack after testifying in front of the United Nations. In the moments before the Talon experimentation facility was destroyed, someone inside it had leaked information about all of their clashes with Overwatch to the public, naming Blackwatch members publicly and declaring Gérard to be a hypocrite in his crusade for justice. He tendered his resignation the next day, as had Jesse, and left behind three pillars of old leadership: Morrison, Amari, Reyes.

Gabriel and Ana, at least, had apologized to her.

"We need you, Angela!" Jack crossed his arms, pacing back and forth across the room. "How could you go up there and pretend we've done nothing good? The Omnic crisis would still be tearing the world apart if Overwatch had never come together."

"Have you been to Russia recently, Jack?" Angela raised a brow. "I will not use my technology, my life's work, to shield atrocities. The fact that you would even ask tells you how far we all have fallen."

"If this is because of what happened to Amélie--" He began, then quieted at her sharp look.

"What _happened_ also involved you." She hissed through her teeth. "Ana trained her, and Gabriel gave Amélie orders, but you were the one who ensured I would never find out about it. That alone is enough to make me leave. If we do this to each other, what future is there?" 

It took three months of physical and chemical therapy to help Amélie recover from what Talon had done in a matter of days. Angela couldn't help but perform her own analysis, although what she discovered was universally appalling; while manipulating adrenaline and dopamine had been part of the process, the most insidious aspect was hard-wiring the neural pathways tied to Amélie's Blackwatch skills and instincts, attempting to sever any emotional associations with the act of killing but pleasure. The worst of the effects had been reversed, but the fact that such brainwashing could exist was nothing short of chilling. 

The six months after were spent in couple's counseling, mediated by a pleasant woman who had once been part of MI6 and deeply understood how hard it could be to re-establish trust. Angela didn't blame Amélie for a single thing that Talon had wrought upon her, but there were old pains festering for them both beneath the surface, and it took some time to mend each other's feelings again. 

Afterwards, they were married in Annecy -- where Amélie was born -- but decided to find a new home in Zürich. Angela hadn't quite understood her wife's reasoning until hearing her bitterness surrounding ballet in Paris, but Amélie had gone and purchased season tickets to the opera house in the city, attending every one of _Ballett Zürich's_ performances. She had also gotten a tattoo to cover the faint scarring over her forearm, curling leaves and flowers blossoming from a single word in the center: _espoir_ \-- hope. 

It was what had sustained them this far, and it was love that would carry them together into the future.

\--

 


End file.
